Honkai Star Rail: Summoning the Chrysos Heirs — Chapter 59

Chapter 59: A Long and Painful Chronic Death

The top floor of the Century Hotel, deep within the Cloud Corridor.

A thick, plush suede carpet swallowed the sound of their footsteps, leaving the hallway entombed in a heavy silence broken only by the faint, sterile hum of the central air conditioning.

Lin Bowen walked at the vanguard, his eyes flicking down to the dial of his mechanical watch with measured regularity.

Behind him strode a middle-aged man with a steady, unhurried gait, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. This was Chen Su, the current Director General of the Special Anomaly Bureau.

Beside him, Lei Zheng was fighting a losing battle to control his breathing. The local director, a man who usually wielded absolute authority over the Xinhai City Branch, now walked with a stiff neck. He kept his gaze glued to the complex floral patterns woven into the carpet, not daring to steal even a sideways glance at the imposing profile of his superior.

Lin Bowen halted before a set of heavy, carved mahogany doors.

He turned, his gaze sweeping over Lei Zheng’s rigid posture before settling on Chen Su’s face—a visage carved with the natural, oppressive weight of absolute authority.

“Director Chen. We have arrived at the negotiation site.”

Chen Su paused. His dark eyes lingered on the brass doorplate for a fraction of a second. He offered no verbal acknowledgment. Bypassing Lin Bowen entirely, he pushed the heavy doors open and strode straight into the room.

The private suite was cavernous. Beyond the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows, the sprawling traffic of Xinhai City crawled along the arteries of the metropolis like a stream of insignificant ants.

Chen Su ignored the stunning view. He pulled out the high-backed chair at the absolute head of the long table and sat down, his hands coming to rest naturally over the armrests. His posture immediately warped the atmosphere of the room. It no longer felt like a luxury hotel suite; he had transformed it into his personal interrogation chamber.

Seeing the Director General take his throne, Lin Bowen and Lei Zheng exchanged a brief, silent glance.

Lei Zheng swallowed hard. The fabric of his dress shirt was already clinging uncomfortably to his damp back. Moving with mechanical stiffness, he took the seat to Chen Su’s immediate left.

Lin Bowen pulled out the chair on the right. He retrieved a pristine white handkerchief from his breast pocket, carefully wiped a sheen of non-existent moisture from his palms, and sat down.

“Dr. Lin.”

Chen Su’s index finger tapped slowly against the polished mahogany tabletop. The dull, rhythmic thuds sounded like a judge’s gavel.

“That Mr. Phainon you mentioned. How much longer will he be?”

Lin Bowen raised his left wrist. Beneath the crystal glass of his watch, the sweeping second hand ticked relentlessly toward the 11:59 mark.

“Reporting to the Director. There are exactly fifty-eight seconds remaining until the appointed time.”

The tapping stopped.

Chen Su said nothing else. He simply let his eyelids droop shut, resting in the silence. Yet, even with his eyes closed, he radiated the suffocating pressure of a dozing tiger, muscles coiled and ready to snap a neck at the slightest provocation.

The air in the suite thickened, growing heavy and stagnant.

A line of uniformed waiters filed into the room, carrying silver trays. Exquisite dishes were arranged across the table in a flowing, seamless stream. The sharp, appetizing aroma of cold platters mingled with the rising, savory steam of hot delicacies, all illuminated by the dazzling refraction of the crystal chandelier above. It was a feast of color and fragrance.

It did absolutely nothing to thaw the freezing tension in the room.

Lei Zheng sat perfectly rigid, his hands planted firmly on his knees. His knuckles strained against his skin, turning a sickly white from the sheer force of his grip. His bloodshot eyes remained locked on the mahogany doors.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The antique wall clock counted down the final moments with mechanical indifference.

At the exact second the hour, minute, and second hands perfectly overlapped over the golden number twelve…

Click.

The heavy brass lock disengaged with a soft, metallic snap.

The massive mahogany door was pushed inward, guided by a slender, porcelain-white hand.

A woman stepped into the room. She was draped in a breathtakingly complex, flowing gown, the fabric swaying around her ankles as if she were gliding across a Victorian-era ballroom. Every step she took adhered to an invisible, elegant rhythm, entirely detached from the suffocating pressure of the suite.

Aglaea completely ignored the intense, scrutinizing gazes of the three men. She walked directly to the far end of the long table, pulled out the chair directly opposing Chen Su, and sat down.

Her movements were as smooth as flowing water, utterly devoid of a single flaw.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Aglaea rested her folded hands gracefully in her lap. Her golden eyes swept over the three men, her tone exceptionally serene, carrying a melodic, airy quality.

“I shouldn’t be late, should I?”

Lin Bowen’s hand froze mid-air, his fingers hovering just inches from the frame of his glasses.

He had fully prepared himself to negotiate with the man known as Phainon. Instead, an entirely unknown woman had walked into their secure perimeter.

… a cold realization pierced through his academic calm. When he had arranged this meeting, he had only told Phainon they would meet at the Century Hotel. He had deliberately withheld the specific room number.

How did this woman find the exact suite?

More pressingly, how had she bypassed the dense perimeter of Special Bureau operatives monitoring the entire floor? His earpiece had been dead silent; no one had reported a stranger breaching the perimeter.

Lin Bowen quickly shook his head, forcing the swirling confusion down and replacing it with a sharp, analytical alertness.

“I simply operated under the assumption that the representative arriving for the negotiation would be Mr. Phainon.”

Regaining his composure, he stood up and extended an open palm toward the head of the table.

“Since you are here, allow me to make the introductions. This is the Director General of the Special Anomaly Bureau, Chen Su.”

Chen Su slowly opened his eyes. His gaze locked onto Aglaea, sharp and piercing as a drawn blade.

Lin Bowen then gestured to the opposite side of the table, where Lei Zheng was practically vibrating with nervous sweat.

“This is the Director of the Xinhai City Branch, Lei Zheng.”

Finally, he pressed a hand to his own chest, his voice returning to its characteristic, clinical detachment.

“As for myself, I am the Head of Anomaly Research and Analysis for the Xinhai City Special Bureau, Lin Bowen.”

Aglaea offered a slight, measured nod. The corners of her lips curved into a flawless, polite smile—neither overly distant nor inappropriately familiar.

“I am Aglaea.”

She raised her right hand, her slender fingers brushing lightly through the empty air, as if she were stroking the strings of an invisible harp.

“A Cloth Weaver. And also one of the Chrysos Heirs within the Flamechasers.”

“Cloth Weaver?” Chen Su caught the unfamiliar title instantly, his thick brows knitting together. “Flamechasers… is that the true name of your organization?”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a low, demanding register.

“In a world teetering on the brink of collapse and utter destruction, we chase the fleeting spark known as hope.”

Aglaea’s voice remained soft, yet it carried a strange, resonant weight. She turned her gaze away from Chen Su, looking past the grand windows toward the oppressive, gray smog choking the city skyline.

“That is the sole reason for our existence.”

“Collapse?”

Chen Su let out a short, cold laugh. He laced his fingers together on the tabletop, his posture radiating pure, aggressive dominance.

“Ms. Aglaea. I will not deny that there are localized anomalies and problems in this world. But to declare that it has ‘already collapsed’ is quite the alarmist exaggeration.”

He stared intently into her golden pupils, searching for a flicker of hesitation, a crack in her flawless facade, or a hint of underlying panic. He found nothing but serene depths.

“In this prosperous, stable era we have built, I must ask—are these so-called Flamechasers truly chasing hope, or are you merely manufacturing panic?”

Chen Su paused, deliberately softening his tone, employing a classic interrogator’s pivot to draw out a concession.

“Of course, Mr. Phainon previously assisted our operatives in eliminating the Abominations. The Special Bureau keeps a careful record of such contributions. This nation has always kept its doors open to talented individuals who possess a strong sense of justice.”

Then, in the span of a single breath, the warmth vanished, replaced by a glacial, uncompromising edge.

“But an unregulated organization wielding massive destructive capabilities, operating entirely in the shadows? That, in itself, constitutes the greatest hidden danger to our national security. What we need are not vigilantes existing outside the law. We need a controllable, absolute Order.”

Faced with this calculated barrage of soft diplomacy and hard threats, Aglaea’s expression did not shift a single millimeter.

She gracefully reached out, picked up the delicate porcelain teacup resting before her, and took a slow, silent sip.

“Director Chen. The world in your eyes is very much like a magnificent robe.”

Aglaea lowered the cup, her pale fingertip lightly tracing the gilded rim. Her voice retained its gentle cadence, yet a bone-chilling coldness now bled through the syllables.

“The surface is bright, beautiful, and held together by fine, careful stitching. But the lining hidden beneath has long since rotted away, crawling with an infestation of parasites.”

She raised her eyes. There was no fear in her gaze. Instead, Chen Su found himself looking into eyes filled with a deep, almost divine pity—the terrifying indifference of an entity that had already seen through the fragile illusions of mortal affairs.

“If those torn wounds cannot be sewn shut in time, and the festering filth of the Abominations is allowed to fully permeate the fabric of reality…”

Aglaea paused. For the first time since she sat down, she leaned forward, locking her golden eyes directly onto Chen Su’s dark pupils.

“Then tell me, Director. How is this world any different from one already on the brink of destruction? It is nothing more than a long, painful, chronic death.”

Chen Su’s pupils constricted to pinpricks. His jaw tightened as he drew breath, preparing to tear down her metaphor with cold, bureaucratic reality.

But Aglaea did not give him the chance to speak. Her lips parted, delivering the devastating blow she had prepared long before she ever stepped into the room.

“If our deductions are correct, that massive Erosion Rift expanding at the Western Ruins…” She let the silence stretch for half a heartbeat. “At this very moment, your military defense line there is about to completely collapse.”